Blank Slate
by AcademySenseiIruka
Summary: After taking a tumble off a cliff, Arthur Morgan has lost all memory of who he is. A group called the Pinkertons offer him a choice. Join them and hunt down outlaws or hang. At the time it seemed like an easy decision but now, looking at the grief in Hosea's expression, he wondered if maybe he'd spoken too soon. (Carthur)
1. Chapter 1

He slowly opened his eyes and he saw only white. A low hum followed him back into darkness... "Charles" he slurred before passing out.

When he opened his eyes again it was in a cage rolling along a bumpy road. His head ached with each hitch of the rickety cage. Looking around he discovered he was alone. Well, alone in the cage. OUTSIDE of the mobile prison was a different story. About a dozen or so armed men rode alongside, surrounding him.

Shaking his head he slowly eased himself onto the bench.

"Ah, your awake, Mr. Morgan." Came an annoyingly pleased voice.

Arthur cast confused eyes to the stranger speaking.

"Thought you may not wake up, given the nasty fall you just had." The man smirked under a black bowler cap with a broad crimson band.

Morgan he had said, was that his name "Morgan"? He flinched as he gingerly touched a particularly sore spot at the back of his scalp. Pulling his had away he noticed his fingers smeared with scarlet blood.

"Careful, we bandaged you up as much as we were willing but we'd still prefer to get your full bounty by bringing you in ALIVE." The man emphasized the word as tho death would be more of an inconvenience to HIM, not the 'would be' deceased.

Right out the gate, this was not a likable man.

"Alright, then you mind telling me what this bounty is for?" He asked squinting.

The man just laughed. "It is my understanding, men like you wear your many indiscretions as a badge of honor, forgive me for not indulging you."

"What the hell?" He spat, losing the tether on his patience. "I'm just asking you what I've done, or at the very least you could do me the favor of telling me my name."

The man laughed again, turning in his saddle to square off. "You may think yourself a funny man but I-" The man paused for a second before calling the cart to halt. Searching eyes pierced through the bars and the cadged man drew back. Shrinking away from the potential threat. "Well, well well, you really don't remember, do you, Mr. Morgan."

Slowly, he shook his head. "I'd be much obliged if you'd tell me whats going on tho. We can start with my name."

* * *

Turns out his name was Arthur Morgan. The man he was talking to was Agent Milton with the Pinkerton detective agency sent to break up gangs in the area. After a long conversation, one where Arthur was told next to nothing about himself, he was let out of the cadge.

Arthur stood alongside the agents as they had him perform a variety of tests. From jumping jacks to answering basic trivia.

"What's today's date?" one said and Arthur glared.

"I don't even know my damn name and you think I know that?"

"There are some things you obviously still remember." Milton corrected. "Speach for one."

"Point taken," Arthur said begrudgingly. "Um, the date is... August, 5th I think... 1898?"

Without telling him if he was right or wrong they challenged him to a few more testes. But with each test, the men seemed to enjoy Arthurs company a bit more. Or at the very least found the situation more and more amusing. Finally, they handed him a pistol and directed him to a jerry-rigged target some yards away. Arthur didn't hesitate, emptying the rounds into the poker card tied to the tree like it was second nature. Easier than breathing. Pulling the card from the tree the Pinkertons couldn't help but marvel, one wide hole at the heart of the ace. Each bullet, single file, chasing after the tail of its brother.

"Well, it's good to see your shooting hasn't been compromised." Milton complimented raising a brow and smirking. "We have talked things over and have reached a decision with what to do with you, Mr. Morgan. Without being tarnished by your memories of your life as an outlaw, we can offer you an alternative to the gallows. Join us in apprehending gangs in the area and we will consider your sentence served. You will be a free man."

Arthur hesitated, there was a catch... there had to be, he was sure. But he didn't really have a choice or a reason to decline, so he shook Agent Milton's hand and was allowed to halter his pistol.

* * *

It was three days later when Milton had him riding with them for his first rade. Everyone's spirits were high as they climbed the grassy hill and rode south towards a known encampment of outlaws.

"Now," Agent Rossy, a fat irritating Pinkerton said dismounting and turning towards Arthur. "Whatever happens you are to hold your guns towards these two men." The wanted posters of Hosea Matheus and Dutch Van Der Linde waged in his face.

"I remember," he growled, slapping the pages away.

"Leave him be, Mr. Ross." Milton commanded as he marched ahead.

For whatever reasons there weren't any guards on duty to stop them, so the Pinkertons were allowed to walk right up to the picknick tables of the outlaw camp. Something about the vulnerability of the gang seemed particularly disconcerting to Arthur but he couldn't put his finger on it. So instead he focused on the task at hand and aimed his guns towards the men from the posters.

"Mr. Van Der Linde." Agent Milton called, something teasing played out in his voice as he approached the distracted gang.

They had been in some kind of group conversation, all circling around Dutch, who sat at the center.

Arthur walked between Milton and Rossy and when they got close enough, he raised his pistole as he was directed. The reaction was certainly not what he expected.

Hosea looked stricken. As tho a trigger had already been pulled but his body hadn't slumped forward yet but Dutch... Dutch whispered a curse under his breath, soft and disbelieving.

Arthur hesitated, suddenly even more confused by the unanimous intake by the gang. Some spark of recognition? But all expressions quickly turned to stone-faced anger. Arthur couldn't help but notice every glare was directed at HIM, and the invading Pinkertons were ignored.

Arthur felt trapped as his mind grappled for an explanation. Was he a rival outlaw, was he someone they had met before?

"Son." Hosea said suddenly, the simple word drawing Arthur up short and his gun wavered as he took a half step back. 'son?' his heartbeat galloped off as he stared, confused at the grim expression of a man he only recognized from wanted posters.

Arthur kept his guns trained on the wanted men but turned a questioning glance to Agent Milton and his blood ran cold as he took in the man's gleeful expression. Milton's bald skin puckered with laugh lines all the way up to his ugly hat and a devilish twinkle lit his eyes, sending a forboding spark of fear through Arthurs's entire nervous system. Arthur found himself taking an involuntary step back, his gun drawing towards Milton, as if by magnets but in his uncertainty and growing paranoia, Arthur kept his other gun trained on the outlaws.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded with even less force that he felt he had. His voice wavered and Rossy's smile widened like a fox about to eat the hen.

Dutch slowly stood and walked around the table, drawing Arthurs wide-eyed attention. "My boy." he soothed, raising a hand like you would a spooked horse.

"What did they do to you?" he asked, expression darkening as he turned towards Milton. "What have you done to him?"

Milton let his shotgun rest against his shoulder as he relished in Dutch's growing agony. "It wasn't us. We found him this way, tho I suppose we were the ones who chased him off the cliff." Milton smoothed his jacket, casually looking away before rolling his head back. "really, you should be thanking us. We were on our way to the gallows when we discovered his little... um... problem. Without his memories, he has become a model citizen."

Dutch clenched his teeth and behind him, a gun calked, and then another and another. Arthur looked over and saw that somehow, over the course of the conversation, each gang member had acquired possession of a rifle or shotgun and held them aloft. The gang, now prepared to stand their ground against the Pinkertons.

A warm hand came to rest on Arthur's shoulder and he failed to suppress a shiver of trepidation. If Dutch noticed he didn't show it. Instead, he pulled Arthur back, drawing him away from the Pinkertons and back to the gang. "Well, in that case, I thank you for returning my son to me."

"A pleasure," Milton smirked. "It was rewarding enough to see your face. I know how much you prize family and loyalty. Tell me, how does it feel knowing your most trusted didn't even know who you were when we showed him your bounty poster?"

Dutch sneered in response but said nothing.

Arthur felt another warm hand hesitantly brush up and rest on his other shoulder. Arthur turned to see Hosea, blue eyes soft and sad looking back at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw the Pinkertons slowly making their way from the camp. But both Arthur and Hosea didn't pay them any attention. Arthur just soaked in the vision of the man in front of him, desperate for a shred of memory. "I, I'm sorry but I don't..." he whispered after an unknown amount of time and Hosea gripped his shoulder a bit tighter as he smiled warmly.

"That's alright, son. One step at a time, I'm just glad your back."

* * *

As the Pinkertons disappeared Dutch called everyone to pack up. And with military proficiency, the gang members scattered to carry out those orders.

Tent poles fell and crates of food were loaded onto carts as Hosea inspected the wound at the back of Arthur's head.

"Does it hurt?" Hosea asked, snapping Arthur's attention away from a little boy in a blue coat, who also watched him intently.

"Um, no. Not any more. I, well it stings some times. but doesn't really hurt."

Hosea hummed, fiddling with the strands of hair that covered his bruised head.

"Hosea!" Dutch called, startling Arthur enough to make him jump. "I'm sorry Arthur, I didn't mean to... Well, how is he, Hosea?"

Hosea sighed pulling away from Arthur and let his warm hand rest on Arthur's shoulder. "I'm not sure. There's quite a bit of bruising and I can see a large gash is healing but I have no idea if his memory loss is temporary or permanent but I think it would be best if he was allowed to recover his memories on his own, not be told who he is and who we are."

Dutch nodded before turning to Arthur. "Alright, we are gathering your things and when we get to the next camp we will have you go through them, see if they trigger any memories."

"My things?" Arthur asked surprised.

Hosea looked crestfallen and Dutch grimaced. "Yes, Arthur. Your things. You will also be traveling in a wagon with a Charles Smith."

"Dutch," Hosea whispered harshly, "Are you sure? We don't want to rush things and spoil Arthur's introductions to people." Arthur felt a double meaning behind Hosea's words but Dutch just waved his hand dismissively.

"The sooner he remembers the better off we all will be. And the happier he will be."

Hosea didn't look convinced, in fact the pinched brow intensified as his worried expression slid over to a dark-skinned man standing a few feet from Dutch.

"This is Charles Smith." Dutch said, motioning the man to come closer.

His steps were slow, hesitant as if he were walking on cracking ice over a fridged lake.

"I'll leave you both to be reacquainted." Dutch nodded, tugged Hosea to follow after him.

Arthur watched them leave, catching Hosea cast a worried glance over his shoulder before he turned back to Charles. "So, you're my traveling companion?"

Charles didn't respond right away. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other like a bouie in the water. "Ah, yeah." his dark eyes clenched closed as he stammered a bit. "I, I mean we've traveled before, together."

"So you know me?" All things considered, Arthur knew it was a stupidly obvious question but he got the feeling this Charles character deserved an easy answer so he could find his footing in the conversation. Or else he may just drown.

"Yeah, we go hunting sometimes. Or just... Well." His words petered out and the big man seemed to deflate. He looked ridiculous, like a giant dog afraid of a kitten. "Here, our wagon is just over here." Charles lead Arthur to a full wagon and even gripped Arthur's hand to steady him as he climbed on.

Arthur held on a heartbeat longer than necessary as he scooted over into the passenger side of the cart. There was something familiar in the act. Some motion set to muscle memory triggering a vague wisp of déjà vu.

"What do you remember?" Charles asked, sitting beside him and giving the reins a gentle snap, directing the horses forward.

Now it was Arthur's turn to stammer. "I, well I remember bit's and pieces but I can't figure out what they mean. It's sorta like an incomplete puzzle. I can't really tell what the picture is because I don't have all the pieces. If that makes sense?"

"No, it does," Charles politely assured. "Can you tell me what the pieces are?"

"Well," Arthur ignored his recent hint of memory of when he touched Charles, in favor of explaining a mostly fully remembered event. "There was a woman whose horse died on her and needed a ride to a place called Emerald Ranch. She gave me something for helping her but I don't remember what it was. I think I sold it to a man near there."

Arthur grew quiet as he imagined Hosea with him at Emerald ranch. Talking to a man about his relatives... by marriage? The memory was still hazy but something felt right about it.

"Is everything alright Arthur?" Charles asked.

"Yeah." Arthur answered, albeit a bit hesitantly. Charles piqued an assessing eyebrow but didn't argue. Somehow Arthur knew he wouldn't.


	2. Chapter 2

When they arrived at the new camp, Arthur wasn't allowed to help unload. Instead, he was sent to babysit the boy he saw earlier, the one in the blue coat. Turns out his name was Jack and Arthur was his... Uncle? Well not really, the kid mostly called everyone uncle, including a man they all called Uncle, tho he wasn't anyone's uncle.

All in all, twenty or so minutes of talking to the kid had Arthur's headache returning with a vengeance and Arthur was more than happy to let the boy's mother collect him when she was able.

"Thank you, Arthur." She said smoothing the boy's hair down as he stood in front of her facing Arthur. "I just, I'm glad your back Arthur, we all are."

"Thank you." He said simply. As he walked away Arthur tried his best to remember the woman's name. Ella, Emma, Anna? He shook his head and kicked the dirt, hard. Scuffing his boot and casting a small dust cloud on the edge of camp. "Damn, what was her name? Eliza?"

"Who are you trying to remember?" Someone directly behind him asked. Arthur spun around hastily, hands sliding to his gun but didn't whip it out.

"Woah, sorry Arthur, didn't mean to startle you. It's just..." The man had long scars going across one half of his face. 'wolf' an unknown part of Arthur's brain supplied but he didn't know why. "But... you said, Eliza." The man said.

"Is that the woman's name, the one with the boy?" Arthur asked and received only a confused look for his troubles.

"Do you mean Abigail?"

"Abigail," Arthur whispered, trying out how the word fit in his mouth. It rolled comfortably off his tongue and somehow it felt right. "Abigail," he said again and this time something sprang free, like a bit of stone broken off by the pickax of a miner, he remembered something. She was younger then, doting on a boy too stupid to know a good thing when it fawned all over him. And then he disappeared.

Redirecting his unfocused eyes, Arthur realized the man in front of him was the boy from his scrambled memory. "You left, for a year." Arthur said, half to himself and the man's pitted expression morphed into irritation.

"You don't even know my DAMN NAME but you remember THAT?!"

Arthur watched the man storm off and didn't even have to fight to find a memory of him doing the exact same thing countless other times. John, the man's name was John Marlin. Arthur was sure of it... well, not entirely.

* * *

Arthur lay on his cot, he had been told by an elderly lady that his personal possessions were arranged in the exact same locations they had been in from the previous camp in the hope of triggering a memory but no new memories surfaced. He tossed and turned, studying the faces in the few photographs that surrounded him. Lyle Morgan, Dutch, Hosea, his mother and a dog. But something was missing, misplaced or taken from it's original position but he just couldn't put his finger on it. Something about a man, tall and strong...

Arthur knew he should be trying harder than this but trying to find yourself was turning out to be very exhausting work. So instead, he lay on his cot staring up at the draped fabric that sheltered him from the elements. Just waiting for the answers to come to him.

Eventually, his eyes drifted closed without his permission.

* * *

_"Just like that, now pull back." The voice coached softly, sending chilled breath billowing out around them in smoky puffs. "breath in, that's it... and let go." The arrow whizzed through the air, cutting the wind as it sang it's way into the flesh of the deer. "Perfect shot, Arthur."_

_Somewhere a key slid into place and turned, unlocking a memory of another shot, this one much louder. Pain seared through his shoulder and Arthur cried out as the O'Driscolls descended upon him. Their faces laughing at him and spitting on him from above. Arthur gasped for air as he felt his world flip. Suddenly he was bound by his feet, upside down. Dangling like a Christmas tree ornament and being hit, kicked and prodded like a pinata._

__The wound in his shoulder grew and festered, sending a fire through his body that left him shivering, cold and week. Eventually, a soft voice permeated the fog of pain and dreams and gently coaxed him from underneath the stormy waves of his nightmare.__

* * *

Arthur opened his eyes warily. Half expecting Colm to climb out from under his bed. Instead, he was met with morning air and the rustling of fabric and clanking of random objects that told Arthur the camp was awake.

He slid out of bed and let the last fragments of his dream fall away. Stretching his shoulder experimentally Arthur refused to dwell on the horrors his subconscious had created to explain his joints sudden flare of discomfort.

"Hows the wing?" Hosea asked eyeing him curiously from over the newspaper he pretended to read.

"It's fine." Arthur mumbled sleepily. He made his way clumsily over to the fire where he just knew a coffee pot was waiting, ready with warm piss poor coffee. Arthur smiled as he pulled out a tin cup and poured the brown liquid like he had hundreds of other times. The routine cementing itself with how natural it felt. After he made his way back to Hosea.

He sipped the cup and ignored the other man studying him intently, the paper now abandoned.

"Well, how do you feel?"

Arthur somehow knew it was his normal MO to say he was fine and nothing more, but Arthur had been building up a steady stream of questions he wouldn't mind getting answered, but those answers would only come if he was open and honest. Even without his memories, the transparency made him flush with a twinge of embarrassment.

"I, well I had a nightmare last night." He admitted setting the cup down and poignantly avoided Hosea's concerned, assessing gaze.

"Care to share?" Hosea encouraged with practiced nonchalance. The old con made a movement, it was subtle but Arthur caught it. Hosea had stopped himself from leaning forward and crowding into Arthur's space.

"Not particularly. Tho I do have a few questions about it. Something seems..." Arthur paused, looking down at his own reflection peering back at him from the dark drink. "It seemed familiar somehow."

"How so?"

"Well, Something happened to my shoulder, I think I was shot. In my dream at least." He corrected looking up at Hosea. The man pursed his lips uncomfortably.

"That may not have been as much of a dream as you think." He began gently, smoothing out the forgotten paper before refocusing his attention back on Arthur. "You were kidnapped by a rival gang called-."

"O'Driscolls." Arthur finished much to Hosea's surprise.

Hosea swallowed down a sip of his own drink and leaned back on his creaky old chair. "I had hoped those would be among the memories you'd never be able to recover," Hosea said. "You were tortured for days. We, well. It's no excuse but we had no idea where you were or that you had even been captured. We could only assume the worst and hope for the best. But eventually, you escaped and made your way back home. The fever knocked you out for several days and the injury kept you in camp for weeks longer." a sly grin blossomed across the man's face as he continued. "You were a damn nuisance after the first week. Board out of your mind and unable to leave. The entire camp was begging Ch-"

Arthur perked up as Hosea abruptly cut himself off. "What were you going to say?"

Hosea looked genuinely guilty as he looked around till his eyes fell on Charles, cutting wood on the other end of camp.

Following Hosea's gaze, Arthur watched as the man lifted the ax and swung it down, slicing the lumber into firewood. And even though the glossy hair was tied back, the dark hair lifted and fell around him as he worked. The motion reminded Arthur of a rolling river, smooth and sure as to its destination, a comforting repetition that could lull you to sleep.

Arthur watched transfixed as the man picked up another log and set the wood on the stump before lining up his next swing.

Arthur got the feeling Charles cut wood a lot, and it wasn't just because the man was well built... tho he was. Arthur couldn't help but note the well-toned muscles working together as the ax lifted and dropped down in a precise blow.

Arthur didn't realize he let out a sigh till Hosea laughed, pulling his attention back to him.

His eyes twinkled as Arthur glared at him.

"And here I was worried over nothing," Hosea said cryptically, standing from the table with his coffee and paper. "Why don't you go talk to him?" He winked before turning away.

Arthur watched him go until he heard the 'CLOP' of the ax swinging down again. The sound rerouting Arthur's eyes to the dark skin beginning to glisten as the man worked.

Chugging the last of his coffee Arthur stood to approach the man.

'CLOP'

It didn't take Charles long to realize he was being watched and when he did, Arthur did his best to casually approach. Charles smirked, almost devilishly before lifting up the front of his shirt to wipe the sweat that had gathered on his brow.

The sudden show knocking Arthur's attention span for a loop. If he had been more aware, he would have noticed Charles took longer than strictly necessary to dry himself off with the cloth. Tho Arthur certainly wasn't going to complain.

"What can I do for you?" Charles asked finally, dropping his shirt and Arthur had to stop himself from requesting he lift his shirt again.

"Um, I had a dream about you last night." He blurted instead, almost choking himself as he saw Charle's eyes widen in shock. "I, it wasn't a, I mean, we were hunting. At least I think we were." Arthur corrected, blushing like a forest fire as Charles face smoothed out into something more understanding.

He tilted the ax against the stump and let it drop.

"Have you remembered anything else about me?" Charles asked smiling easily but Arthur was able to read something deeper at play. Charles was intentionally putting on a placid facade. At his core, Charles was worried.

The thought unsettled Arthur and he had to stop himself from going over to hug the other man. Tho something inside him screamed not to hold back.

Arthur shook his head, trying to clear it of the murky impulses he had but didn't quite understand. Before he knew it, Charles hands were on him, reaching out and grabbing his arms, "Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?" Charles's eyes blazed with fear as he clung to Arthur. Arthur's breath hitched as he realized Charles must have misinterpreted Arthur's head shake to be a dizzy spell.

"No Charles, I'm fine," Arthur whispered warmly, a smile growing as relief flooded Charles expression.

Without meaning to, Arthur leaned forward and kissed him. It was on instinct but as Charles surprise wore off Arthur fell deeper into the kiss. His arms climbing up Charles sides to pull the other in closer. Charles's lips relaxed before growing tight once more and he firmly, yet gently pushed Arthur away.

"What are you-"

"You don't have your memories, Arthur. This is taking advantage, and I can't do that."

"Oh come off it." Arthur complained. "I may not have all my memories but I know enough to know there was something going on between us. Why can't we continue this now?"

"Because what if you get your memories back and you resent me for being with you when you weren't fully aware of everything? I care too much about you to risk losing you that way."

"And what if I never get my memories back?" Arthur hissed and immediately wished he could take it back. The stricken look on Charles's face was almost enough to crush Arthur. Charles, strong and steady was almost moved to tears.

"Don't say that Arthur, please. I love you no matter what but you are living off the fuzzy memories of some other you. You are not in love with me." As Charles tore himself away from Arthur he selfishly allowed one last lingering touch. His hand cupped Arthurs cheek as the outlaws watched stunned. "I will love you no matter what but we can not go this course we are on. It is what you need Arthur." Charles pressed sincerely, his words drifting off as he let his hand fall.

"I should go." Charles announced, regret clouding his dark eyes.

* * *

When Arthur got back to his bed he trashed his tent. Tore down the photos and kicked his trunk. He seethed with unjust rage and pain. If he didn't love Charles then why did it hurt to say goodbye? He childishly flopped down on his messed up bed and tried his best to force himself to remember.

Nothing. It was like trying to call a wild mustang. You had to have a memory in your sights before it was even possible to real it in. And Arthur's memory field was barren.

He wrestled with himself for hours but not even the barest hit of anything came. His melancholy was only slightly disturbed when someone new knocked at the edge of his tent.

"Hey Arthur, can I come in?" The stranger asked, leaning against the wagon. "Just came in to check on ya."

Something in Arthur's stomach twisted at the sight of the man but Arthur's gut had also told him to kiss Charles and look how well that turned out. So against his better judgment, he decided to allow the stranger to enter his tent.

"You remember me?" He asked and Arthur struggled to place him. Sighing in frustration he shook his head, no.

"Names Micah Bell. We're brothers you and I. Tho not by blood. Dutch raised us both and that makes us family, you understand?" He instructed. Arthur nodded along, what the man was saying felt true but... it also felt... off. Like looking into a funhouse mirror. Distorted and skewed but how was Arthur to tell what was real anymore? How could he possibly discern what was memory or dream? But the echo of something set off warning bells in his mind.

"You ok, cowpoke?" Micah asked. His tone, full of false concern. The man leaned forward, brushing Arthur's hair back from his forehead like a mother would a child. "We all want you to get better." He whispered, letting his hand drop down to cup Arthur cheek the way Charles had, but this felt different. Arthur felt pinned as the possessive hand gently stroked his cheek. A cheap amalgamation of affection but Arthur was too confused, too stretched and doubting himself too much to actually pull away.

Micah grinned and the warning bells in the back of Arthur's head began ringing louder.

"I think you should leave," Arthur whispered. "now." the last word carried more venom then even he intended but Micah only smiled, stroking his lips gently before he slowly pulled away.

"I realize you don't remember how things use to be but we were close, you and I. And I intend to keep it that way." When Micah left Arthur shivered, feeling a chill as his muscles quaked in the warm evening.

Arthur had never felt so lost... or at least, he didn't remember if he had.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was more of the same. Except Charles was gone. He'd left to go hunting. Wouldn't be back for a few days.

Arthur's unease simmered just below his skin as he roamed around the camp. Hosea gave him some level of comfort by offering a friendly ear, except Arthur was so rattled he couldn't even put into words what he was feeling and what was happening to him.

Certainly his evening with Micah had... frightened him but he wasn't about to admit anything like that so he kept it to himself. Instead, he busied himself with chopping wood.

He fell into a zen state after a while. Chopping far more wood than was necessary but even then he didn't stop. He had been cooped up for so long already that the exercise was as invigorating as it was taxing. As he worked it beat him physically. He cut and hacked until his shirt was a sweaty mess.

It was around two or so when he finally tore off his damp shirt. But even then, all he did was ball it up and toss it in the direction of his tent before picking up the ax again to resume chopping.

Arthur fell back into the dazed zen state, completely ignorant to the passage of time and the world around him.

"I think we have enough wood their, cowpoke," Micah said, chuckling as Arthur leaned down to pick up another log.

Arthur turned around and faced the large mound of wood that had leached out surrounding him on all sides. Thick enough you couldn't see the bottom few layers of firewood beneath the pile.

He wiped his face as his well-worn muscles trembled with excessive use and the drops of sweat tumbled to the ground beneath him.

"Come on Arthur." Micah cajoled. "You look exhausted."

Now that he was thinking again his body was screaming at him to stop. The ax slipping from his grasp as his knees buckled but Micah was there, hands wrapping around him, seizing him tight in a net of arms. Arthur struggled to pull away but his usual strength was kittens and only served to make Micah laugh. "Easy Arty." He soothed in his ear, far too close for comfort.

"Where, were is Hosea?" He gasped, disoriented as Micah began to lead Arthur to his wagon.

"Oh, it's ok cowpoke. I've got ya." Micah cooed petting his side. Arthur wanted to shove him away but his body wasn't cooperating. His legs trembled and muscles burned, leaving him with no recourse but to lean even heavier against Micah for support.

"Is he alright?" A worried voice asked. Miss. Grimshaw, was it? And Arthur struggled to respond but Micah just hushed him.

"Yeah, he'll be fine, just overworked himself, as workhorses tend to do." Micah gave a long-suffering sigh as he lay Arthur back on a creeky bed. A hand ran against his brow and Arthur's eyes drifted closed as the world spun around him.

"Why don't you get some damp cloth so we can cool him off?" Micah suggested and the few seconds of silence that followed had Arthur almost fully asleep but the hand on his brow began to wander. Dipping down along his cheek and leaving his body to reappear on his chest.

Arthur struggled and failed to open his eyes, only succeeding in mumbling a week incoherent protest as the hand continued to trail along his figure.

"That's it, cowboy, just relax," Micah whispered low and sensual in his ear as a bold hand massaged around his collarbone and chest. Even in his delirious state, Arthur could hear the teasing smile in his voice. "Trust me, Arty, I'll take good care of you."

Arthur tried to protest further but found himself drifting off instead. The gentle soothing strokes of Micah's hands, rubbing along his aching body, lulling him to sleep. Micah chuckled breathily and continued to whisper lowly in his ear but he was past hearing, the exhaustion tugging him too far under to care.

* * *

_Arthur was running for his life. Chased by something that outnumbered him twelve or so to one. He was on foot as he sid to the edge of a tall cliff. Climbing down was his only option. Even that didn't give him much of a chance at survival but there was more at stake than just Arthur's life. He had to warn them... It was all a trap._

_He was over the edge repelling down the cliff when he felt the rocks above him rain down around him like hail. He clung to the rock face as best he could but the Pinkertons had begun to toss large stones and gravel on top of him. They mocked him and cheered when one struck him._

_He didn't see the one that caused his grip to slip and Arthur could do nothing but fall. "Charles" he whispered, morning the loss of the man even before he died_.

* * *

Arthur's head felt like stuffing was wedged between his ears when he woke up. His body ached and he felt... brittle. Someone moved just to the left of him and Arthur turned to see Hosea asleep sitting on a chair at his bedside. Keeping watch over his foolish son.

Arthurs smirk turned to a wince as he slowly sat up in bed. The creak of the springs pulling Hosea from his rest.

"Sorry Hosea," Arthur whispered before the man could fret over Arthur.

"Oh don't worry about waking me, son." Hosea leaned forward to better evaluate Arthur's current condition.

Arthur just shook his head. "Not just for that but for overdoing it." he offered a small sheepish smile and received one in kind.

"We all do foolish things when we miss someone." He commented casually passing a hand over Arthur's forehead checking for a temperature. Evidently pleased, he dropped his had and offered a glass of water.

Arthur downed it in one go. Surprising himself by how parched he suddenly felt once the cool water first slipped down his throat.

"You had a bit of sunstroke," Hosea explained standing up. "I'll bring you another cup."

Arthur felt a twinge of unease as he sat alone in his tent waiting for Hosea to return. Looking down at himself he realized he was wearing a nice clean shirt. He fiddled with the cuff and let his mind wander. For the most part, he felt comfortable in the camp. He felt a sense of belonging... but Micah was a different story. The touches confused him. Was this normal behavior for them? Did he have some past relationship with Micah? If so then, was Arthur unfaithful to Charles? The warning bells going off in his head told him 'NO' on all accounts.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he missed Charles.

Arthur was grateful when Hosea returned.

He spent the remainder of the day in bed and the chair at his side was hardly ever empty. Arthur considered asking some of them about Micah but felt guilty about drawing anyone into even more of his troubles. Navigating his relationships was Arthur's problem, not theirs.

Still, the remainder of the day was relaxing. Espically since Micah never made another appearance.

At one point Tilly came in with a set of dominoes and Javier and Hosea joined them for a game.

"How come you don't play your guitar anymore?" Arthur asked during one of his turns.

"You remember that?" Javier replied, his tile hovering over the game as he watched Arthur.

"Yeah, I've been remembering a lot of things lately," Arthur said, tho he was still missing several important pieces of memory, he was beginning to be more confident the remaining pieces would eventually fall into place. It was only a matter of time.

Arthur won one game and Tilly won the other two. The third was interrupted when Pearson hollered that dinner was ready.

Hosea brought a bowl back in for Arthur and ate his at Arthur's bedside. As they ate, Arthur smiled at hearing the familiar cords as Javier began playing by the fire.

* * *

_That night Arthur dreamt of collecting the money Strauss lent to Thomas Downs. The man staggered as Arthur neared him like a thundering bull but a hand grasped Arthur's bicep and tugged him back._

_"Arthur," Charles reprimanded gently, almost fondly. "Look at him, the man is sick."_

_"He's faking Charles." Arthur spat. Not impressed by how easily Charles had fallen for Mr. Downs's antics. Mr. Downs was a leach, feeding off easy money with no expectation of giving it back. Couldn't Charles see that?_

_Instead, Charles approached and began to talk with the farmer. The man had given him the full sob story and by the end of it, Charles had agreed to pay what the man owed, free of charge and interest._

_Arthur grumbled as they rode away. Part irritated Mr. Downs got away with paying nothing and part enamored by Charles. The man was boundless in so many things Arthur lacked. He was a good man. Kept to a strict hunting code to honor a people he didn't remember well or know if they still existed. He respects life and found good in the strangest of things. Most surprising, in Arthur himself. Charles constantly encouraged Arthur to become a better person. The confrontation with Thomas Downs was only the latest example._

_It was days later when Arthur learned Thomas Downs had Died of TB._

_A guilt began to fester as Arthur considered how he had treated the man. Threatened and frightened him. Charles later found him drinking on the end of the dock at the new camp._

_"How do you do it?" Arthur asked, not drunk but tipsy. "How do you see all those things I don't?"_

_Charles laughed commenting on how Arthur was leaning against him but didn't move to shove him off._

_"I'm as much of a flawed person as anyone, Arthur." He explained and Arthur snuck little unnoticed snuggles into Charles's shoulder. Ok, maybe he was drunk..._

_Charles patted his back before ushering him to his feet. Arthur followed happily because that meant he could lean even MORE into Charles._

_As they staggered towards Arthur's tent, Arthur continued to bemoan his behavior towards Mr. Downs._

_"And that's the key Arthur," Charles explained setting Arthur down on his cot. "You care, you don't like to show it but you do. Despite all that this cruel, cruel world has thrown at you, you still have a capacity to care. Sometimes you don't pay attention to the part of you that wants to be kind but it is a stronger piece than you pretend to have." Arthur trained blurry eyes on the dark eyes above him, listening to the unwarranted praise. A part of him wanted Charles to be right and god, it was a big part of him._

* * *

Arthur woke up sweaty and antsy. He buzzed for Charles. His soul calling out to the man who had left him days ago.

Getting out of bed Arthur made his way over to the horses. His white mare snorted a hello as he rubbed her forelock gently. "When did she get back?" Arthur asked, Kieran.

"Um, I don't rightly know. She just wandered in one day after you disappeared." The boy stood back from Arthur, shy and warry.

"What is it?" Arthur growled impatiently, causing the boy to flinch before he resumed brushing the horse in front of him.

"It's just, you remember me?" His voice was soft and a bit hopefull.

"A course I do, O'Driscoll." Arthur let his voice slip into something threatening and the boy sputtered defensively.

"I ain't an O'Driscoll!" And Arthur just laughed.

"I'm only teasing you." He hopped on his horse and Kieran's expression of confusion sparked into all-out panic as he lunged for the bridal on Arthurs horse.

"You're not supposed to leave the camp." Kieran reminded hastily.

"Kieran, I've been cooped up for days. Bedridden for most of yesterday. I ain't about to go far, just want to get out for a bit. I'm going stir-crazy overhear. I need to wander, just for a bit." Despite how apprehensive Kieran looked, his hand gradually released the halter.

"Alright, just don't stay out too long ok?"

"Is that an O'Driscoll telling me what to do?" Arthur challenged, his voice becoming steely and rough.

"No, it's a Van Der Linde wanting you to come back safe!"

Arthur looked back, surprised at the boy's words and tone. Evidently so was Kieran since he ducked his head behind the main of the horse he had been tending to.

"Alright," Arthur agreed easily. "I promise, I won't be gone long at all."

Arthur was only going to go up and down the nearest roads leading to the camp. Nothing even close to civilization but he needed the breeze and fresh air on his face. Even if he was going to get yelled at for it, the excursion was well worth it.

He was on his third lap, considering going back to camp when he heard a horse riding towards him. Arthur braced for whatever lecture he was about to receive and when he saw Baylock, he wished for the lecture.

"Howdy cowboy," Micah greeted, a false cheeriness to his tone that set Arthur on edge. "You heading back to camp already? I'm sure Dutch and Hosea would be fine if you stayed out a bit longer with me."

"I think I'll pass," Arthur said. Those warning bells going off in his head again and he cautiously directed his horse around Micah in the direction of the camp.

"Javier tells me you're starting to remember more and more." Micah said, there was a warning in his words and Arthur eyed him as their horses passed.

"Yeah." He admitted, "I'm remembering more and more every day." He kept his tone mocking and lite as he watched Micah's expression darken.

The rat was hiding something, he just knew it.

'Rat', he thought to himself, the word twisting something sinister in Arthur's belly.

"Shame," Micah said behind him. "Here I was thinking we could become something more than just friends." Before Arthur could respond, a lasso caught him around the neck and tugged him backward off his startled horse. Micah dug his heels into Baylock's side and rode off, dragging Arthur in the dirt behind him.

As Micah galloped further away from camp, all Arthur could do was spin around at the end of the rope. He flailed in the air only to bounce violently against the ground and specks of stars began to gather behind his eyes. He gasped soundlessly, tugging at the suffocating rope but it didn't budge. Dark clouds descended on him as he slammed against another rock. His vision dimming as darkness threatened to envelop him, till finally, with one last merciful blow, he lost consciousness.

* * *

_Arthur followed the smoke in the air to what he thought was an O'Driscolls or Lemoyne Raiders camp, turns out... it was Pinkertons. Their charcoal gray suits and prissy lifestyle gave them away. These were city boys, unaccustomed to life without certain amenities. Arthur shook his head, smiling to himself as he saw one of them ironing his pants.  
_

_ Tho Arthur surveyed from a healthy distance away, he was still close enough that he didn't need binoculars to count them. Under normal circumstances that would be fine but he was much closer than he preferred to be considering who he was dealing with. Ironed pants or no, these were still one step away from being federal agents._

_Further away and drawing nearer, Arthur turned his attention to the sound of an approaching rider. A dark horse rounded the corner of road and ducked between the webbing of trees to reach the Pinkerton's little abode._

_'So twelve Pinkertons so far?' he thought.  
_

_Tho on closer inspection... suddenly Arthur stiffened. The implication of what he was witnessing sent frozen shards of fear rushing through Arthur's veins... The rider was Micah Bell. Micah was working with the Pinkertons._

_Arthur remained crouched as he slowly began backing away towards his horse. His eyes still more focused on the Pinkertons than where he was going... And that was his mistake, he didn't see the brittle branch till he had already snapped it with a defining crunch._

_He ran for his life after that, sprinting out of the forest, heart in his chest, towards the horse he had recently caught near Coulter. __He had almost reached her when the gunshots started, sending her flying with the speed of a falcon. Arthur hissed vicious curses at the green broke Arabien as she dashed off, leaving him to escape the only way available to him... over the steep edge of a nearby cliff._


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur woke slowly, his sore neck acting like a candle in the darkness, drawing him upwards till his tired eyes opened.

When he finally gained the awareness to lift his head, he looked around and found himself tied to a tree. His eyes burned as he surveyed the meager campsite he was imprisoned in.

"Ah, you're finally awake. I was beginning to think I snapped your neck." Micha's teasing lilt came from directly behind him.

"Why didn't-?" Arthur coughed, his abused throat burning like flames around his half-formed question.

"Because you lost," Micah said stepping around to face him. "and I wanna make this moment last." Arthur didn't have time to curse the rat before Micah's cool hands latched onto his throat. Arthur gasped soundlessly as his head was pulled upwards, forced to meet Micah's manic gaze.

His eyes were crazed, flickering with a wild frenzy that hungered and starving for blood and his manic grin spread across his face like it had been split open by a knife. And then Micah leaned in. His breath was hot against Arthur's lips and flex of black began to dance across Arthur's vision. But he could do nothing to get away.

Finally Micah released him. Arthur's lungs thrashed in his chest, pounding along with his heart to draw in copious amounts of air. Micah didn't lean back, content instead to watch Arthur gasp and wheeze, struggling for breath mear inches from his face.

"Yah see cowboy, I think I like you much better this way. Dutch's most loyal," Micah ran his hand gently along Arthur's chest, grinning as Arthur froze in shock at the contact. "helpless."

Arthur tried to pull back as the hand moved upwards to gently cup his throat again but this time it just hung there, steady and possessive. Micah was making a point. If he wanted, he could do anything to Arthur.

Arthur pulled against the ropes that restrained him to the tree but they didn't budge... He was locked in place and a steady fear began to take root, growing inside of him like it would in any cadge animal. Powerfull, primal fear circulated through his body with the blood in his veins and Micah grinned, witnessing the fear blossoming in Arthur's wide blue eyes. The truth was Micah had him, and he couldn't get away.

Arthur suppressed a whimper as the hand clenched at his abused neck again.

"Fuck off," Arthur rasped weekly, his voice barely above a pained whisper but at least it was steady.

Micah hummed, sitting back on his heels as he stared at Arthur. "I'm going to take my sweet time with you, Arthur. Do all the things I've always wanted to do." Arthur failed to suppress a repulsive shudder that coursed through him, triggered at Micah's words.

"Don't worry, when I finally break you. You'll enjoy it." His voice dropped low and Micah leaned in with both hands to strangle him again. But this time Micah set his own lips against Arthur's.

Arthur tried to shake his head free but Micah just pressed him back against the tree and moaned loudly. "I love the way you struggle." He whispered "but someday you won't struggle, someday you'll want this as much as I do." and Arthur's vision flickered again. The black spots decorating his vision once more. He opened his mouth to scream but Micah's lips descended upon him once more.

Then suddenly the hands and lips were gone and Arthur was free to gasp loudly. A peculiar weariness settled into his bones as he fought for breath. In his dazed state, he felt almost sedated sitting there, tethered to the tree, panting like a dog.

A grunt drew his sluggish attention to the scuffle going on to his immediate left. As he turned he saw Micah scrambled to his feet, pulling out a knife as Charles stood between him and Arthur.

'CHARLES!', Arthur mentally cheered, his spirits sent soaring with a sudden euphoria bordering on hysterical.

Wasting no time, Charles lunged at Micah, dodging the knife easily and grabbing Micha by the shoulder, he sent him flying through the air till he dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

The moment Micah landed, Charles was on him once more. Micah swung his knife again but Charles effortlessly batted Micha's arm away, twisting it till Micah yelped in pain and dropped the weapon. Then, climbing on top of the man, Charles seized Micah's vulnerable throat with both hands. Micah struggle beneath the larger man but after a few seconds of frantically grasping at Charles, his limbs grew slower and slower until he stopped moving completely. Even then, Charles held on.

Long moments passed and Arthur tried to speak. "Charles." He whispered, tho to him is should have been a shout. The force of which sent him hacking and coughing, choking on air.

Finally Charles stood and made his way over to Arthur. Using Micah's knife he cut Arthur free, catching him as he fell forward bonelessly. Charles gathered him into a warm embrace and whispered kind assurances as Arthur continued to gain control of his breathing. The surge of adrenaline he gained with Charles's arrival was fast waning and the lethargy of before was steadily seeping back in.

As his angry chest settled, Arthur became aware of the tender petting along his back. The touch, pure and kind, had him melting into Charles further.

"How'd you find me?" He whispered and Charles kissed his temple before answering.

"When I arrived back at camp, everyone was in an uproar. Apparently, your horse had come back to camp and you hadn't. So I tracked you here." Charles's voice resonated in his chest as he spoke and Arthur enjoyed having his head gently cradled above the man's heart so he could experience it in a new way. Except it wasn't so new, Arthur had been here before, tho last time it was without the threat of death.

Charles lifted Arthur's lax hand and gently pressed a kiss to a bruise at his pulse point.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" He asked, his voice tight.

"Yeah," Arthur mumbled "just tired." His eyes were closed as he took in the rhythmic pounding of Charles's heart. It was gradually slowing its race but it still hadn't dropped to a normal resting rate yet. Arthur indulged himself in the sound, even nuzzling in deeper as Charles attempted to pull him away.

"No," Arthur wined as he lost the body heat from the other man. "Ch-" Warm lips hesitantly brushed against Arthur's own but it wasn't a kiss, only giving the echoed promise of one and Arthur found himself nodding before his brain even registered that Charles has asked for permission to kiss him.

They both took their time with kissing each other. Each pulling apart slowly till the other chased after their lips in turn, the both of them feeling the need to give just one more kiss.

Eventually, Charles pulled back completely and offered Arthur his hand to stand. As he did, Charles pulled Arthur back into a warm embrace. Trapping his and Arthur's hand between them like they were about to slow dance. "I'm not pushing you away this time Arthur," Charles assured, leaning his forehead against Arthur's and began gently massaging Arthur's hand with his own. "I don't know why I did before, I was such a fool, I just... I'm sorry Arthur."

"Shush, It's ok, I understand." Arthur soothed pressing a quick kiss to the hand that held his own. "Charles, you're allowed to not be perfect. To be scared and to mourn the person you thought you had lost but, Charles, I'm right here."

Charles nodded. "I know that now, I can't believe I almost realized it too late." Charles's eyes were warm but stormy. A deep-seated sadness had grown in him since he left.

"I don't blame you, Charles. I always knew you'd come back."

* * *

Before leaving Micah's camp they searched his belongings. Charles huffed angerly on Arthur's behalf as he pulled out several of Arthur's missing personal belongings. His journal, satchel and father's hat. Slipping them on was like coming home. With his signature hat firmly on his head, Arthur felt like the last few missing pieces of himself had finally slid into place.

They left Micah unburied, they both agreed the rat didn't deserve it.

Riding back to camp the two were met with a variety of emotions. Anger turned to worry as Hosea began fretting over the fresh angry red marks at his throat. Even John hovered nearby, fetching salves and cloth at Hosea's request. As Arthur was treated, Charles told Dutch and the others what he had seen Micah doing, well mostly. He left off the kissing parts.

Then when he was done, Arthur explained the truth about Micah working for the Pinkertons and how, discovering Micah's treachery had ultimately been what caused him to lose his memories in the first place.

Dutch trembled with rage as he cursed Micah's cold dead body. Unfortunately, it also meant the Pinkertons and law could potentially know where they were and the group had to set about reloading the wagons once more.

This time Arthur packed his own things and didn't need to be told to sit alongside Charles as they rode away.

When they arrived at the new camp, Arthur helped unload and as he did he made one little correction.

As night settled down around them, Arthur watched over the binding of his journal as Charles searched for his sleeping mat. Arthur just smirked as the man went from one end of the camp asking if anyone had seen it, to the other. Finally, he looked to Arthur and his eyes squinted suspiciously as he saw Arthur's answering grin.

"Looking for something?" Arthur teased from where he sat on his cot, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

"Arthur," Charles began irritably "I nee-"

"Sleep here." Arthur invited. "I know you've done it before. We use to do it all the time... Conserve body heat I mean." Arthur smiled as he casually made reference to there time in Coulter where he and Charles did a bit more than 'conserve body heat'. They thought they were being sneaky by keeping their fledgling relationship a secret by using the coded excuse... but the entire camp knew what they were really doing. So, they were only fooling themselves and by the time they left for Horseshoe Overlook, they were an official couple.

Charles smirked, sitting down to rest against Arthur. "You sure about this? We don't even know if you have all your memories back."

"That reminds me," Arthur said confidently, closing his journal and setting it down on his lap. "I know you stole those photos of you from my wagon. Don't know why you took them but I'd like them back."

Charles ducked his head sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I just didn't want you to feel pressured into being the person you thought you should be or feel obligated to be the person I wanted you to be... I wanted you to choose on your own. And well, as strange as it sounds, I also kinda felt they belonged to some other 'Arthur'."

Arthur tilted Charles face up so he could see the sincerity in Arthur's gaze. "I am Arthur Morgan, Your hunting companion, friend and someone who loves you very much. I am the Arthur from before." Arthur's voice dropped to a more tender quality. His hands pulling Charles into a heartfelt kiss. He let his lips do the talking, pouring every Charles centric emotion and searing in every Charles centric memory into the kiss. His arms trembled as he thought of their relationship as a whole. Pulling away, he silently begged Charles to finally accept him. "Charles, I remember you." he breathed hotly against his dark skin.

When Charles pulled back he looked surprised, shaken. Then slowly he pulled Arthur back in and renewed the kiss. It was genuine and familiar. Their lips locking together, making the perfect fit. This was his Charles, Arthur thought, sighing happily... and he was his Arthur.

* * *

The bowstring sang its familiar tune as Arthur let it fly. Striking its target through the eye socket.

"Perfect shot" Charles encouraged.

"Of course it was." Arthur said playfully, "I had a great teacher."

They loaded the dear on the back of Arthur's new Bay Mustang and headed for home. In the distance, a cone of smoke billowed up into the sky, reminding Arthur of how this all began.

"Charles," Arthur called.

"Yes?"

"It occurs to me I never told you, 'think you'. For everything. For coming after me, for saving me from Micah." When he received only silence in reply Arthur turned to see Charles calm assessing eyes monitoring him and Arthur couldn't help but smile fondly.

It had been weeks since his run-in with Micah and Arthur had put the incident mostly behind him. Charles, on the other hand, had become more protective than usual. Tho even then, he was never possessive. Never took over or took from Arthur. Merely stood a bit closer and guided more gently. Like Arthur was a fancy Faberge egg. Like Arthur was something precious to protect.

Arthur smiled and slowed his horse. "Say, it's getting late don't you think?"

Charles blinked and looked up at the bright sky in confusion.

"Shame it took us so long to track these two deer. Took all day." Arthur bemoaned dramatically. "We should probably camp out for the night. What do you think, Charles?"

Finally catching on to what Arthur was alluding to, Charles laughed. "Yeah, now that you mention it, it is a bit dark."

They pitched a sloppy tent in an open patch of secluded forest and as soon as they slipped inside, they were on each other with lips and hands, grappling with clothing and buttons.

Needless to say, they conserved a lot of body heat that night...

Lying naked on his back, Arthur's finger casually brushed along Charles's velvety firm chest eliciting a sigh from the drowsy man. Arthur smiled, kissing his exposed chest sweetly. "I love you." he said.

Just before dozing off, Arthur reached over and pulled a blanket to cover them. Then, pulling Charles to his chest he lay back down. Content to be a human pillow for his love.

Arthur hummed sleepily, eyes already closed as warm fingers slowly slid up his chest and neck and began carding through the hair just behind his ear.

"Arthur?"

"Mmm?"

A kiss was pressed onto his neck and Charles nuzzled feather-soft lips over Arthur's collarbone. "I love you too."

"I know, I remember," Arthur said, his voice thick with fatigue. He brushed comforting sluggish circles along Charles back until they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

This is the edited version, if you'd like to read the unedited XXX version, go to AO3 and look for Blank Slate under RDR2.

Also, I want to point out why Micah was written the way he was. Micah is the mirror to all of Arthur's other relationships. Everything Micah does is repeated by others, (like Charles or Hosea) but when they do it, it is in a healthy way. Like how Charles doesn't want to take advantage of Arthur, Micah does. Or when Micah brushed Arthur's hair, Hosea does the same but out of concern. Everything Micah does is from a toxic relationship standpoint but everyone else responds with the healthy version of Micah's actions. Micah is possessive where Charles is protective. Micah is an unhealthy obsession and Charles is in love.

Ultimately I felt this was an important story to write so I did.


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